Breaking The Glass
by Allons-y My Madman In A Box
Summary: After all that time on earth and his undisputable charm, I have a hard time believing Gabriel doesn't have a child with a human. So, here is her story. Her journey through finding out who she is to becoming a hunter herself. Most importantly, learning how hunting changes you, down to your very soul. Centered around the OC, but the boys will show up! Surprise twist at the end.
1. Chapter 1

Journal Entry #1

June 4

You know how sometimes a writer will plan out their story step by step, plot point by plot point? They will map out their characters, diving into backstory and motivations. Long into the night, they agonize over every decision and every chapter, thoroughly researching each consequence.

And then there are some stories that seem to just jump out of the random and onto the page. They require no plotting or research. They flow from the writer's fingers as if it was dictated by fate.

I am the later writer. I research no cons and I agonize over no decision. I act. More like I react. That is just who I am. This would better for me if I was a fiction writer. But as this is a journal and not fairytale, I have learned to live with regrets.

Perhaps if I was a secretary, lawyer, burger flipper, or teacher, then I could change my way of thinking. I could become less impulsive and more calculated. I could be less hard and more trusting.

If things were different….

But they're no different.

I'm not different.

When I first found out what I was, I dropped a glass. The sound of the shards bouncing on the wooden floor was logical, comforting in the face of confusion. If physics was still in effect maybe the world would all go right again, like the way a weeble wobble toy will always straighten. Eventually it will return to its original position, but nothing was the same. I had just accepted my fate.

I grew up never knowing who my father was for 19 years. I was okay with this. I figured if the son of the bitch wanted to ditch without a word in the first place, I was better off without him. Mom didn't talk about him much, however she didn't talk much at all. When I was a baby, she started seeing things, strange shadows in the bushes and people with disfigured faces. People thought she was crazy. Doctors thought she was crazy. She's been on medication ever since. Between the pills and the scotch she regularly washed it down with, my mother was usually pretty out of it.

As a kid, I took well advantage of that.

I was always the class clown. Teachers were known to cry from happiness when I graduated to the next grade. Yeah, I was that kid. Once in the fourth grade, I had a teacher who was extremely OCD about her desk. Each day I would sneak into the classroom and move three things slightly out of place. She would walk in and immediately fix the damage. I did this every day for a month, moving different things each time. One day, with no warning, I stopped. The poor woman went out of mind the entire day trying to find what I had changed. She stopped class and sent us all home, making me the hero of Master's High. Another time, I put a thin pocket of water in a bully's gym shorts so that when he sat down to put on his tennis shoes it looked like he pissed himself. Juvenile? Of course. Hey, what can I say? I was in middle school and my mom was a basket case. Who wouldn't have a little fun?

I miss fun.

When I was 19, my mom got hit by a bus.

She died one day later in the hospital at 4:37 p.m.

And that was when I met him.

The doctor had already declared time of death and I had let go of her cold hand. It was my sign of defeat. She might have been emotionally present for my life, but she had a warm spirit and a ready smile. And now in the course of 24 hours, the warmth had been drained. She was cold.

I sat in the chair by her bed, face in my hands. The nurses had come in to pull a large white sheet over her head, but I sent her away. The sheet was too final. The sign of no hope in the movies. I knew I only had a few minutes before I would have to face the truth.

"She didn't deserve this."

It was almost a whisper. I don't think he meant for me to hear it actually. I slowly raise my head and turn to see a man standing in the doorway. He was leaning on the doorframe, playing with a something crinkly in his jacket pocket. I remember feeling this sadness radiate off him,

"You knew my mother?"

He sighed and stepped into the room. He looked like he was in his late thirties/early forties, with brown wispy hair and a rather large nose. He looked at me up and down before nodding.

"We had a relationship once."

My eyebrows went up.

"Really?"

"Yes…nineteen years ago."

I sucked my breath in quickly and breathing became difficult.

"You?"

"Yep," he said with a quirky, but sad, little smile smirk.

And that is how I met my father.

Surprisingly, that was not the most shocking thing that happened to me that day.

Without a word, he walked over to my mother's side and stroked her cheek. He started whispering into her ear, stooping low to get close. He softly kissed her, while I just stared on in utter shock. Then he looked at me, winked, and put his hand on her chest.

And then…..his hand glowed.

The whole room filled with light, blinding my eyes. Power seemed to surge in the very air. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth. When it stopped, the man staggered back, breathing heavily. I sprung to my feet and pushed him against the wall.

"What did you do to my mother, you sicko?!" I screamed in his face. His look of utter surprise faded into an amused awe, which did not deter me. He pointed behind me with a little smirk on his face.

I turned around to my mother sitting upright, eyes open and breathing.

The machines went crazy. The beeping was loud and chaotic. All of the sudden doctors and nurses came crashing into the room, yelling orders and scrambling around like ants trying to fix a leaking anthill. In all the confusion, I saw the strange man slip out. I ran after him, pushing my way through the crowd of confused professionals.

"Wait!"

He stopped and looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

"I…I need answers. I need to know who you are….what you are."

He winked at me again and turned to leave.

"Please!" I lunged after him.

He stopped and it seemed like time stopped with him. The few people in the hallway were frozen in that second. I experimentally moved my arms to see if I too was stuck in place, but they moved without a problem. He slowly turned around and stared at me for several seconds.

I don't know if I can accurately describe what happened next.

A light so bright it should blinded me instantly exuded from his skin as his eyes burned with a holy fire. A momentous shadow rose from his shoulder, extending in two wing-like formations. He seemed to grow several feel and a loud booming voice pushed into my ears.

"I AM THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL AND I AM YOUR FATHER."

My mouth hung open in shock and I didn't know if I should run or bow.

The light seceded and time began again, but it felt like I was now the one stuck in time. Gabriel had a smug, self-satisfied look on his face.

"I've always wanted to do that," he quipped.

And with that he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

I don't know how long I stood there. I think a doctor pulled me away.

"Were you with your mother?"

"Did you see what happened?"

"Was it sudden or did she wake slowly?"

"Was anyone else in the room?"

"Did you give her any drugs?"

I was bombarded by doctors surrounding me asking me questions and genuinely being confused. I didn't blame them, but I also had no answer for them. What was I going to say? Oh yeah, Doc, it was an Archangel who just happened to be my father? I just stood there with a dumb look on my face.

"Can I see my mom?" I blurted out. The doctors almost looked ashamed and nodded, stepping aside to allow me in the room.

"Mom?" Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was relaxed and steady. Her eyes blinked open and a smile formed on her face.

"Hey, Baby. How are you doing?"

"How am I doing? Mom, you are the one who died. How are you feeling?" I sat on the edge of her bed and took her bony fingers into mine, rubbing the back of her hand in small circles.

Her smile grew wider. "I feel better than I have in years. Gabriel has a habit of doing that, as long as he is switching your foundation with itching powder." I raised one eyebrow and she laughed. "Don't ask!" Her tone was playful, her eyes were bright, and she was laughing. I had never seen her like this. She had never been this happy.

"So…Gabriel….is….an….." I drew out each words hoping she would jump in so I could confirm what I had seen.

"He's called an archangel, dear." She said this as casually as if was a plumber.

I took a deep breath. "And you found this out…how?"

"Accident, really," she laughed. "The poor dear accidently walked into a holy fire ring that was charmed to light up as soon as a celestial being was detected."

I straightened up in confusion. "Holy fire?"

"Yes, it's used to trap angels."

"But…you knew? About…'celestial beings' before Gabriel?"

She sat up and sighed. She clasped both of her hands around mine.

"Honey, there is something you should know about your family."

Then she proceeded to tell me how my family have been hunters for the last four generations. She spoke of the monsters under bed and the things hiding in my closet. Monsters, demons, angels, and evil became all too real in her words.

I left the hospital in the hour.

I left the state within a day.

I didn't go back.

It wasn't until I was out of state and settled in a cheap motel that I began to research into my mother's words. I was surprised on all the information I found. People had dedicated their lives to things that went bump in the night and I eagerly pored over the pages. Then I came across a page titled "Nephilim In The Bible."

I clicked on the page like any other.

And that's when I dropped the glass.


	2. Chapter 2

Journal Entry # 2

June 5

When I found out I had "special powers," I nearly killed myself.

After finding out I was Nephilim (child of an angel and human), I had researched hunters. This lead me, after many false hits, to a man named Bobby Singer. I trekked to his scrap yard, hoping that he could help me make head and tail of this mess. He gave me a place to stay and food to eat. He became an important part of my life.

When I first knocked on the door, Singer answered while deep in his cups. I found out later he had just lost a man he considered a son, Dean Winchester. Bobby was a mess. Late into the night I could hear glasses clink in the study. But I didn't care that he was torn up, because I was torn up too. More often than not, I would join him in the study at all hours. He would pour me a whiskey and slide it to me with a finger on his lips, as I wasn't technically legal.

The best part of Bobby's house was the books. He had so many wonderful, beautiful books. I spent countless hours drowning my curiosity in information about any topics I could find. Bobby let me apply that knowledge by testing me in different simulations.

Learning how to shoot a gun wasn't difficult. Aim, however, was,

"You gotta shoot the can, not the fence, you idjit!" Bobby shouted from ten feet behind me. He had taken to standing way back whenever I had my finger on the trigger after an over exaggerated "hole-in-his-favorite-cap" incident.

"You think I don't know that, Singer?" I huffed indignantly. I reloaded the gun and took aim towards the already holy cans lined on top the crooked fence.

"I got one! I got one!" I jumped up and down after getting a successful shot.

"Stop that jumping around with a loaded gun!"

"Oh, m'sorry," I murmured, handing him the gun. I was rewarded with an affectionate head slap and a patented Singer smile.

"Good job, kid."

Bobby quickly became the father I never had. He helped me to deal with my biology and my mother's lies. He taught me that the angels would hate me if they knew my identity. I was an abomination. I was a mistake. I wasn't supposed to happen.

I tried not to think about it.

Bobby took me out on my first hunt two months after I came to stay with him. It was a simple salt and burn. In 1924, a mother was murdered by her adult son and her spirit stayed, tethered by her wedding dress hidden under the basement floorboards. She had been torturing a young couple, who happened to be the most annoying people on the planet.

We went to the house and found the dress rather quickly. But, Mommy didn't want to leave so easily and the couple were a constant hindrance, despite our best scams to convince them to leave. The young husband's stupidity caused the ghost to start throwing things around, causing Bobby to be trapped under a fallen ceiling beam.

I rushed to his side and, without even thinking, lifted the solid oak beam like it was a toothpick. His face was so deep in shock he could've passed out. But I didn't even notice. As I was helping him up, the wife began to scream causing the ghost to throw more things around. Already hyped, I instinctively lunged at her. I swear I barely touched her, but she went flying against the wall.

And that was when I saw it.

I saw myself in the mirror.

I saw my eyes.

They were glowing.

And I had hurt a human.

I ran. I ran out of the house so fast I swear I blinked and I was outside, leaving behind a scared couple and a shocked Bobby. I was crying before I slammed into the truck. I yanked open the door and collapsed into the seat, avoiding eye contact with mirrors.

Bobby joined me soon, having destroyed the dress. He didn't say a word. He just drove. When we arrived home, I ran to my room and locked the door. I sank to my knees. My eyes closed, but all I saw was my own glowing eyes staring back at me, taunting me as it shred away my illusion of humanity. Tears ran down my face as my body racked with sobs, as two mouths of stress and hurt came bearing down on my soul.

The angels were right.

I was an abomination.

I was a monster.

Drunken in my own pain, I reached for the sharp knife in my duffel. I stood in the mirror staring right into the eyes that had become my shame. Delirious, I positioned the knife directly in front of my eye. They were the source, I wrongly assumed. They glowed. If I were to take them out, perhaps I would be human. If it failed, perhaps I would bleed to death. Either way, it's a win-win.

Knock, knock. "You okay, kid?"

I didn't answer. I just held the knife in place and silently cried.

"Hey! You okay?"

"Open this door!"

I was beyond the point of hearing him. I couldn't breathe. I was remotely aware of Bobby slamming his shoulder against the door. I stood there still, knife against my head, willing my body to disregard its normal aversion to pain, when the door comes crashing down.

Bobby lunges for me, knocking the knife out of my hand and pinning me to the floor.

"No! I need to cut it out. Let me cut it out! Please!" I screamed at him, fighting his arms.

"Are you insane? No!" He yells back.

I send him flying into the bookcase and I see blood drip down his arm.

My eyes glow once more.

I look down at his blood in shock and collapse to my knees.

"M'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry," I repeat over and over again through wrangled breath.

Bobby pulls himself out of the rubble and engulfs me in his arms. "It's okay. I'm okay. You're okay. It's all okay," He whispers to me in hushed, quick tones as we rock back and forth. The smell of whiskey and gunpowder on his jacket has a calming effect as my screams turn to whimpers.

Once I had calmed enough to see reason, he grabbed my face and held me eye to eye.

"Now you listen to me, girl. You do not need to cut anything out. Because there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. You understand me?" He spoke each word slowly and deliberately. I thought I could see water forming at the corners of his eyes.

I nodded.

But I didn't believe.


	3. Chapter 3

___Author's Note: I realized I never put a disclaimer, so, yeah, I own nothing. This chapter is a little shorter, but harder to write. Dean and Sam show up in the next chapter. Please Review!_

Journal Entry #3

June 6

I don't know why I let Bobby talk me into this journal thing.

"It's for you to give to ya children," he said, as he handed me the leather bound book with empty, thick pages.

"You mean when I'm old and crotchety like you?" I quipped, running my hand over the bumpy cover. He chuckled and nodded while pouring himself another whiskey.

I stared at the book, opening to its pages and running my fingertips along the smooth paper. I imagined for a moment its pages filled with words and sketches detailing brave feats and horrible monsters. I closed my eyes and pictured a white rocking chair and gray hair. The journal passed from wrinkly, veined hands to the smooth ones of my children. Or maybe my grandchildren, who knows? I saw them awing over my bravery and wit as they poured through the pages. I saw….

A fantasy.

All of it.

An unreachable dream.

I opened my eyes and whispered, "I'm not going to live long enough."

Bobby raised his head and stared at me. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

I turned and left Bobby to his thoughts. Before I went to my room I peeked into his study to see what he was doing. It wasn't a surprise. He was on his fourth whiskey staring at an old photo of that Dean Winchester. Over the months I had heard a lot about Dean, he was like a son to Bobby. Bobby talked about how good Dean was with a gun, how he was a ladies man, and how he was loyal to his family. But, Bobby never talked about how he passed. I had found out from a friend of Bobby's that Dean was in hell. Never knew why. It didn't matter. All that matter was that it destroyed Bobby.

What if I died? What would Bobby do then? I knew my life span was short. What if Bobby had to watch me die? I knew the old man cared for me. I cared for him.

I couldn't put him through that.

Remember how I said I was the second author, the impulsive one?

I left that night.

Years later, I would get a call saying Bobby was dead.

It was the second time I broke a glass.

I had never written in this journal before I learned of his death. Months after, it only seemed fitting that my last tribute to him would be to tell my story in the book he gave me. Therefore, I write now to tell my children not only about me, but about the man who showed me love when I thought I was a monster. The man who showed me that I was not an abomination. I was human. I was good. I was me. It didn't matter that my father was the trickster from heaven. It didn't matter that my mother was a hunter. It only matters who I am.

Without Bobby, I wouldn't be here.

I miss him.


	4. Chapter 4

*Author's Note: Sorry this took so long and is short. I graduated high school on Monday and I have family in town. Also, please review! I need inspiration.*

Journal Entry #4

June 7

I did eventually meet Dean Winchester. I was hunting a vampire nest in Oregon.

"Agent Summers here, we got another one?" I said as I picked the yellow iconic tape over my head.

"Two bodies, both with the same holes in the neck, one male and one female," a policewoman said without even looking up from her clipboard.

"Fifth time in a week," I mumbled as I knelt by the cold body, running my gloved fingers around the neck holes.

"I'm Agent Kirk and this is Agent Chekov. The DC office sent us."

I recognized him as soon as I saw him. Bobby's desk picture didn't do him justice. Chiseled jaw, green eyes, light stubble, strong arms, and a true hunter's body made him impossible to ignore. Dean freaking Winchester. Closely behind him followed a giant of a man with long hair and soft eyes. Sam. He was in the pictures as well, although his hair had been shorter.

"We already have an agent on duty?" Officer Kelly said, "Agent Summers?"

I watched as six pairs of eyes turn to me. I was surprised at the recognition in his eyes.

"Let's discuss this privately," Dean said.

We walked over to the corner. "So, you're the girl Bobby adopted, huh?" Sam said with a cute little crooked smile.

"He mentioned me?" I was genuinely surprised.

"You kidding? He won't shut up about you. Your picture's on the desk."

That one sentence became the most important words I had ever heard. He didn't hate me. I had abandoned him and he didn't hate me. After his death, those words would comfort me in the long nights.

The case itself was uneventful as soon as the boys got involved. Between the three of us, it was short work to find the nest, between the quips and teasing. Dean and Sam were easy to get along with and I quickly slipped into their routine. Working as a team, showed me how beneficial it was to have someone to watch your back.

But, I couldn't have that.

I still haven't told them what I am.

As soon as the case was over, they went left and I went right.

If they knew, they would have to kill me.

After all, I'm still a monster.


	5. Chapter 5

*Warning: very light smut at end of chapter. Vey light though*

Journal #5

June 8

I met Danny Bracker a year and a half ago.

I kissed him first.

He said "I love you" first.

We met in a bar on the south side of town. I had just gotten off a tough hunt. I was bruised, bleeding, and drowning my loneliness in whiskey. God knows why, he decided to approach me. I was a mess and, Lord, did I smell. But, he did.

"One whiskey and one scotch, middle shelf."

I raised my eyebrow to this brown haired hunk of a man who sat on the stool next to me. He had blue eyes, dimples, and coffee stains on his teeth. He pushed the whiskey glass towards me. My eyebrow went even higher. He didn't say a word, just reached over, clinked my glass, and winked.

The next day I stopped back in the bar. I had planned to leave town that morning, but their was a flash flood on the road out of town. I sat in the same stool. He came in at the same time. He sat in the same tool. He ordered the same, sliding the whiskey again over to me.

The road was out for a week and the town was so small that there was no other easy way to leave. It wasn't like I was in a hurry anyways. I rather enjoyed the small town. It was quiet and peaceful. Even when the road was fixed, I didn't leave. I found a minimum wage job at a diner as a waitress. Every night I would go to that same bar and the stranger would always follow the routine, like it was a choreographed dance. After he had bought me my tenth drink, he slide me my drink on my napkin. On that napkin, scribbled in blue pen, were the words "I like you." I looked over to him. He was staring into his glass, swirling his scotch nervously. I stood up and tapped him on the shoulder. He paused and then slowly met my eyes. I leaned down and kissed him. He smelled like scotch with a hint of cologne. His lips were soft and gentle. It was slow and tentative, like we were a couple of middle school students at the prom.

"Hi," he smiled when we finally broke away.

"Hi," I returned shyly.

"I'm Danny, Danny Bracker."

Things moved fast with Danny. After four days of talking, we went on our sixth date. He would come into the diner and sit purposely in my section. He would always take his sweet time ordering and tell the manager he needed his waitress to translate the menu for him into Spanish. He had the most ridiculous Mexican accent you have ever heard. One day, as a joke, I put half a bottle a hot sauce in his sandwich and watched as his eyes grew big and gulped down water. I laughed and said, "What's the problem? I thought Mexicans liked spicy." Ah, his face was priceless. He laughed about it afterwards though.

"Where the hell did you get your sense of humor?"

"I was just born with it I guess," I smiled.

Things were happy.

We dated for a month before getting a small apartment. I had put all the hunting tools in storage. I had no desire to hunt. I just wanted to be happy.

We opened the door to our apartment for the first time, as he scooped me up and carried me over the threshold. He spun around, fully taking in the very serious step we had just taken. He walked into the bedroom and gently laid me on the bed. When he moved to let go, I put my hands on his shoulders and drew him in for a kiss. He moved on to the bed beside me, pulling every inch of my body into every inch of his, and deepened our kiss. His tongue rolled over my teeth, while his right hand slid down my body and into my panties. It was like an electric shock ran through my nervous system. He pushed me flat on my back and positioned me between his knees. Balancing with his elbow, he bent down and nipped my ear, whispering, "You haven't done this before, have you?"

I answered him with a moan as he trailed his lips down my neck and into the nook of my breasts with soft, maddening touches, all the while his hands played mercilessly further south. I still remember how it felt, that first time. The way he coached me with encouraging words and rewarding kisses. The way it weakened me as he gently pushed inside me. The way he held me afterwards.

It was….lovely.


	6. Chapter 6

Journal Entry #6

June 9

November 3rd, Tuesday, was the day we buried Danny. Or so they tell me.

I didn't stick around to see it.

PS. It's my fault.

PSS. They were supposed to be after me.


	7. Chapter 7

*Please Review! If you have any ideas, please tell me. It would mean the world to me to have someone review. Who do you want to show up next?*

Journal Entry #7

June 10

Danny's death was my fault. I became comfortable. Hunters, who were tipped off that there was some sort of creature hiding in town, found me. As they attacked, I used my power to protect Danny, making my eyes glow, causing one of them to shoot. The bullet was meant for me.

I ran to Danny's side. I wanted to heal him, like Gabriel had my mother, but it wasn't in my powers. I screamed out my father's name. Praying that he would come to me and heal the man I loved.

He never came.

While trying to protect us, I had avertedly struck one of the hunters back into the wall, hitting his head on the edge.

I heard he died.

His friend, however, was very much alive.

Soon, I had hunters all over chasing me. And then, even the angels began hunting the "abomination." I was on the run for my life. I thought, maybe, my number had been called. I always knew my life would be short. Hell, I was 23. That in itself was a miracle.

I thought about going home to see Mom, but it was too dangerous. I thought about finding the Winchesters, but what was to stop them from killing me? I thought about trying to track down Gabriel, but he had never responded before.

I thought about joining Danny and Bobby.

Hey, it seemed like the entire world wanted me dead, why not oblige?

But then I thought about that day in Bobby's bathroom.

_"__Now you listen to me, girl. You do not need to cut anything out. Because there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. You understand me?"_

I started to think about how Bobby and Danny would feel if I showed up in heaven with slit wrists. I don't think either of them would ever forgive me. Every time I feel overwhelmed and I think on such things, I picture Bobby's face that day, with water forming at the edge of his eyes, and I know that I could never do that to him. I had already broken his heart on earth. I refused to break it in heaven too.


	8. Chapter 8

Journal Entry #8

June 11

Something changed after Danny died. Something inside of me just snapped. If I was reckless before, now I was just chaotic. I went after every job I could find. I wanted to stab every monster I could. Mostly because the small part of humanity still left in my soul would not allow me to murder human. I wanted to. I wanted to kill the hunters chasing me. But I avoided it when I could.

But if I was forced to kill one of my attackers…

Let's say I didn't lose any sleep.

Their blood became my energy. My fuel. I had nothing else in my life.

It was like I was dead.

About seven months ago, I was hunting a coven of witches in Massachusetts who had been stirring up all sorts of trouble. There had been reports of hair randomly falling out, finger falling off, and a few asphyxiation cases. Witches weren't my usual gig, but after a few months, when no one else took care of it, I made the trip.

The lady behind the counter at my motel was very sweet and the apple pie was delectable, so the small town made a good first impression.

At 3:24 a.m. I was awoken to the sound of screaming. It isn't a very pleasant way to wake up. The sound of someone pouring their horror into the very air in their lungs in enough to chill your breath on a regular day, let alone with you are deep in sleep.

Running purely on instinct, I grabbed my gun and jumped out of bed, running as soon as my feet hit the floor. The screams were nearby, a few doors down. I quickly found the room and rammed my shoulder against the door. Once inside, I was greeted to a sight that was horrid even for me.

A twenty something year old man in red plaid boxer shorts and nothing else, kneeling in the middle of the room with blood seeping from his skin.

Immediately I overturned the room, looking for that telltale bag of grossness. I threw the bed into the corner of the room and ripped open the box spring with a knife. Sure enough, there it was.

Amateurs.

Burning the bag with my lighter and throwing it into the suite bathroom, I rushed to his side.

"Deep breaths, deep breaths," I soothed.

He had stopped screaming as blood no longer tricked from his skin. He looked at me, eyes widened in fear, and said, "I….I didn't shoot up….I swear….O-One second I was in bed and the n-next thing I knew….so m-much b-blood….But I didn't s-shoot up." He tripped over his words and kept widening his bloodshot eyes.

"I know. It's okay," I whispered. "You're going to be okay now."

By this time people began to rush into the room and crowding around. I quietly slipped out and went back to my room.

I tore everything apart; the bed, the couch, the chairs, even the carpet. Sure enough, in the farthest cushion of the couch, I found the telltale little bag.

As I was burning it, it began again. The screaming was horrific. This time it wasn't just one room, it was all the rooms. This SOB had put a hex on every single room in the fifty residence motel. I walked into the hallway to sight seen only in the corridors of hell. People on fire, people losing their teeth, hair falling out, and blood. A lot of blood.

I ran into the nearest room to search for the hex bag, but found that I was too late.

I ran into the next room and watched as a child collapsed with bugs running out his eyes.

I ran into the next room and was met with the dying scream of a mother with needles pressing through her skin as she fell amongst her family.

I went through every single one of the fifty rooms, forty of which were occupied. The bags turned fatal before I could find them.

53 people.

Dead.

I couldn't save them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Journal Entry # 9**

**June 12**

**You know people always say the silence is the worst after a tragedy? **

**They are wrong.**

**It's the smell.**

**It's the metallic odor of blood. The char of burnt flesh. **

**I should've stayed there to….I'm not sure what I should've done if I had. But, either way, I ran. Out into the cold streets with sirens blaring and people gathering, I ran fast and hard. I didn't have anywhere to go, all of things were still in the motel, which was an idiotic move on my part. I wasn't thinking about how suspicious it would look to the cops when they found a duffel bag full of weapons and fake ID's in the hotel room of the apparent only survivor. I didn't think about how I was going to pay for another room or when I would go back to get my car. I just ran.**

**I ran to get away. I ran to have the pure force of the wind in my ears wipe away the echoes of screaming. I ran to focus my eyes on something that wasn't the image of dead children. I ran….because if I stopped it would mean it wasn't a dream.**

**I would've run forever. **

**I almost ran into a pond. **

**I stood at the edge of the water gasping for air with my hands on my knees, trying to bring my body and mind back from the terror state. I focused on the wind arithmetically dipping a low hanging branch into the water, timing my breaths to the ripples. **

**I remember these words repeating in my head: How did I get here? **

**I was just a small town girl. Before Bobby, I had never even shot a gun. The most traumatic thing that happened to me was my hamster, Harley, dying when I was 8. Monsters, demons, and witches were just bedtime stories. I was ill prepared to deal with something like this. I wanted Bobby or my mom or the Winchesters or, hell, even my dad to swoop down and take over. Anybody, but me. **

**Eventually I was able to calm enough to put more than one coherent thought together, so I stood up, breathed deeply, and took in my surrounding.**

**I was royally screwed.**

**My only hope now was to find the asshole, gank him, and get out of dodge before anyone finds me. Thankfully, even though the police would find an array of fake IDs, they wouldn't find the real one. There was hope of me leaving town before I was found. **

**But there was something I had to do first. **

**I knew the witch lived close by for my research had shown that all supernatural events had happened in a ten mile radius. But there were hundreds of homes along the ponds and streets on this town. There was no way I could search through all of them without being found. **

**Whoever the witch was, she had to have access to all of the rooms in the motel. That left the owner, the receptionist that hands out the keys, and the maid. **

**I forced myself to go through my memories of that night piece by piece. I remembered seeing the owner on the floor. I believe she lives in one of the rooms. She couldn't be the one, besides it didn't make sense, why would she…do that…to her own hotel? Next, there was the receptionist. She didn't seem capable of such a monstrosity, but I suppose none of them did. I had nothing but a feeling to rule her out. For some reason, the maid had left an impression on me. **

**I had only met her once, when she was bringing the fresh towels. I closed my eyes to try to remember any details I could about her. She was tall, slim, with blond hair pulled into a bun. She looked like a Barbie doll. She was perfect. Too perfect.**

**Magically perfect? **

**I tapped into my visual memory and tried to focus on her nametag. S…a…l…Sally? Sally! Sally Gerhard. **

**I left the pond's edge and cautiously made my way back into town. I stopped at a diner, making sure to keep my head down, and looked through the phonebook sitting by what has to be the oldest running pay phone in the state. **

**Sally Gerhard – 47682 Cumberland Drive **

**I made my way over the house. As soon as I stood on the concrete in front of it, I felt overwhelmed by a presence. Not a calming presence. Not a subtle presence. A powerful, evil, I-want-to-kill-everyone-you-love presence. **

**A demon. This was definitely the witch. **

**I snuck around the back and peered into the windows. There she was, beautiful as can be. **

**I never understood why people assumed witches were ugly. I mean, if you have all this power and ability to reality, why would you choose to appear ugly?**

**I made sure my gun was loaded and prepared my exploding capsules of salt and holy water. Quietly, as to not to alert the neighbors, I picked the lock and ventured inside. **

**The house on the outside was nothing special, just a typical brown and cream house of the suburbs. I suppose I should've expected nothing less. It would be very suspicious if the house were to be cover in gold or float in midair. Even the most staunch unbelievers would begin to suspect that there were otherworldly dealings inside. Inside, however, was confusing. I don't think they were expecting company, as I walked in to a living room full of occult and witchcraft.**

**On the coffee table, a magic ball glowed red as a various bones and herbs were arranged at its base. A gnarled staff with a green gemstone leaned against the couch. The smell of incense was soaked into the very carpet. **

"**What are you doing in my house?"**

**It was the Barbie.**

"**I know what you are," I said while pulling out my gun."And I know what you did." I turned around and pointed the barrel at her chest. "The one thing good about witches is they are easy to kill. No special crap. Just a good old fashion bullet in the-"**

"**Mom?" **

**Keeping the barrel of the gun on Sally, I swivelled my head to look at the kid. He couldn't have been older than 14. **

**Crap.**

"**Put your cell on the counter, kid." His eyes were as big as scaucers as he did what I said. **

"**We didn't do anything. I promise," Sally begged.**

"**Fifty…Two…People," I said slowly, my hand shaking a bit. "That's how many died in your little fit. did they ever do to you, huh? The hotel no give you the time off you wanted? Didn't get paid enough? Somebody hurt your feelings? Tell me! What makes a person, a goddamn mother, kill 52 people?" I was furious and my voice was breaking. **

"**The hotel? You think I did that? I….I could never…they were my friends! The hotel is my job! Why would I do this?" She was crying at this point. "I only use magic for small things: the lottery, this body, and chores. Nothing big or harmful, I swear." **

**I paused. She seemed sincere. **

"**If you didn't, then you must know who did," I said.**

**She shook her head. "I moved here because there was no other witches. I have no idea why anyone would do this."**

"**Maybe because they deserved it." **

**It was barely a whisper. If I didn't have good hearing, I would have missed it. **

**It was the kid.**

**His mother and I froze in our standoff. Slowly, I lowered the gun and turned to face the teen. Surely, I had thought, a young kid couldn't have done something like this? **

"**Max? You?" His mom could barely get the words out. **

**His head was down. "They. Deserved. It." He said each word pointedly. **

**Chilled to my bones, I whispered, "Why, Max, why did they deserve it?"**

"**They looked down on us. We were just the 'help'. Demanding this and that. They got what was coming to them." His voice deepened. "He said they thought they were better than us."**

"**He? Max, who is he?" I asked.**

"**Garmanio…" Sally whispered.**

"**Who is he?" I demanded again, not taking my eyes off the boy.**

"**My benefactor," she said in a small voice.**

"**Demon?"**

"**Yes."**

"**Balls."**


	10. Chapter 10

Journal Entry #10

**June 14**

**The kid was talking to a demon.**

**This ****fourteen year old kid ****was talking to a demon.**

**And killing people.**

**What was I supposed to do with this?**

**I mean, goddamit, his voice was still breaking.**

**Was I just supposed to kill him?**

**I stood there just staring at the kid, unsure how to handle this new information. His mother was quietly sobbing behind me. I believed she had no idea that he was talking to the demon. But it was still her fault for bringing the demon into her home. As a result, the kid killed 52 people. Innocent people. I came in her fully prepared to kill his mother for the same crime.**

**He had to die.**

**I slowly raised my gun.**

**"No!" His mother screamed. She magically lifted a heavy table and threw it at my head. I stopped it with one hand, leaving her to gasp. She then guided the glass ball on the table and tried to crash it on the back of my head quietly, But, I was too quick. In a blink of an eye and one finger, I redirected it to hit her in the chest sending her reeling backwards.**

**"Mom!" Max was in a panic now. He was crying and his brown eyes resembled a kicked puppy. "Please, please, please," he was just repeating himself now. He realized that I was serious and fully in control. I could see his brain working overtime to find a spell to knock me out.**

**"I'm sorry." **

**I pulled the trigger.**

**I killed a 14 year old boy with his mother sobbing behind me. **

**"Why did you do that?!"Sally screamed behind me.**

**This made me angry. It made my blood boil. Did she think I liked doing that? Killing had given me pleasure before, but never a kid. A human kid. Did she think that was a good moment? She didn't know the nightmares I would have. She didn't understand the amount of times I would see her son's eyes in my dreams. How his voice would haunt me at random moments. The kid was murderer and deep down I know I had to do it. But it didn't change the fact that he was a kid. No, this was not a pleasure for me. It was pain. And it was her fault.**

**"Because you made me," I replied in an even tone, still not facing her. "You did this. You brought that demon into this house. You opened up your son to evil. You. This is your fault. All of it. Your son's death and the 52 people he killed. All of that blood is on your hands." I turned around slowly to look at her. She was kneeling on the floor, her eyes wide, with tears streaming down her cheeks. **

**"How does it feel?" I walked quickly to her and shoved the gun right on her forehead. "How does it feel?" I shouted. "To be drowning in innocent blood? Does it feel good?"**

**Her eyes were now closed and her shoulders were shaking with sobs. "I didn't know," she pleaded. "I didn't know. I never thought. Please, my husband...he can't find both of us dead. Please let me go."**

**And that was when I shot her.**

**I will remember those words for the rest of my life. **

**Her eyes would join her son's. **

**I can't describe how I felt after that. I felt dead inside, but at the same time everything hurt. I didn't sleep. The only time I closed my eyes was when the alcohol made it too hard to stay upright. I started with my usual wine and moved to a paint thinner type scotch when the wine didn't knock me out fast enough. Breakfast was wine, lunch was whiskey, and dinner was scotch for a while after that night. **

**I couldn't even hunt for some time. Sure enough, the cops had found my bag and I was suspect #1 for a while. But after a month, the police decided I must have been one of the undistinguishable bodies among the dead. And besides, how could have I, one person, caused so much chaos? **

**I saw the Gerhard's pictures on the morning news. No suspect was never named. I had learned to clean a crime scene well. The crying husband couldn't believe this had happened.**

**His wife and teenage son would never hurt a fly.**


End file.
